Perchance to Dream
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: Perhaps the gift of the Goddess is that of unconsciousness, oblivion, ignorance of the world outside. But then, why is it Sephiroth who bestows it, and what does he want in exchange? For that matter, to what degree is this the same man Genesis once called friend… and, more importantly, how much of that is his fault? T for blood. I do not own Final Fantasy.


_Quick author's note—this is essentially an attempt at explaining why and how Genesis disappeared from the world during the four or so most eventful years of its history, as well as the ending scene in Dirge of Cerberus. I know it conflicts with what little canonical information has been provided, but I think that the canon explanation doesn't make sense. Reappearing to protect the world is all very well, but that doesn't explain how come he was nowhere to be found in the years when the Planet was in the most danger._

* * *

_Even if the morrow is barren of promises  
__Nothing shall forestall my return  
__To become the dew that quenches the land  
__To spare the sands, the seas, the skies  
__I offer thee this silent sacrifice  
_**(_Loveless_, Act V)**

* * *

The final act is over and done with. Wings of light and dark shed their feathers. Of the Hero, the Prisoner, and the Traveler—which am I, truly?—two have faded from existence, returning to the Planet, and the third now chooses to vanish among stone and water.

Bathed in moonlight, kneeling among the rocks, I pray the Goddess grants me slumber. I am weary of the world, and the isolation that comes with living within it. Is it cowardly to run away from my self-assigned duty to liberate the world? Is it selfish to achieve peace at last, if only through silencing my restless thoughts?

Tears stream down my face as the hours flow on alongside them, my suffering unrelieved and doubts ever growing. Why did the Goddess cure me, a monster, of degradation? My existence, the soul I fought to salvage by fleeing Deepground just a short time ago, is meaningless. All is nothing, now that my mission has failed.

When my eyes finally close come sunrise, through no divine miracle but my own earthly exhaustion, my sleep is fitful.

I hear a voice calling to me out of the darkness, murmuring my name in my ear, and my soul stirs uncomfortably. The words are indistinct, fading and flickering in and out like a wavering radio signal. Their sound is somehow familiar, but softer than it had ever been before, and there's a threatening undercurrent that sets me on edge.

_Sephiroth_, I realize abruptly, placing the voice in my memory, and open my eyes to find myself in a dream. I stand in darkness, but the Lifestream winds around me, offering some dim illumination. And _he _stands before me, impossibly, looking no different than the day on which I last saw him—the day of truth. At my utterance, he raises his head opens his eyes.

_You came, _he observes tonelessly. _I wondered if you heard me._

The more I stare at him, the more I sense something fractured deep inside, and the intuition saddens me more than anything. The way he can no longer smile with all his mouth, the glassiness of his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the twitch in his hand—something irreparable has been broken.

My heart freezes. I was the one to shatter his soul so long ago, in a selfish and misguided desire to protect my own. What reason has he to appear before me after I so ruthlessly killed him with truth? I drop my gaze and close my eyes, thinking back to the day I first heard news of his presumed death.

Remorse is an alien emotion to me, but the supposition of my hand in his fall truly taught me the meaning of contrition. The guilt for my actions was overwhelming; I had not realized until that moment how deeply I still felt for Sephiroth, how unbearably sorry I was for so pointlessly destroying his perception of the world.

And as I fell asleep that night, and almost every night thereafter for years, I begged forgiveness for driving him towards the harsh light of truth when he had lived in darkness all his life.

I was in denial for months when I heard of his death, for more reasons than just an attempt to absolve myself of my inextricable involvement. First Class SOLDIER Sephiroth, the perfect monster, killed in action? Impossible. And it wouldn't be the first time Shinra lied, anyway; they had spread falsehoods about my own demise, after all, and about a great many fewer trivial matters than mere casualties.

Even when I fought the puppy long since grown into a wolf, I had my doubts about the truth surrounding Sephiroth's disappearance. But now, as the green light of the Lifestream lends him a seemingly spectral glow, I recognize that perhaps Shinra told the truth after all.

_The time will soon come for me to return to life and reconquer the Planet for Mother, _says Sephiroth, and I cannot fathom the emotion clouding his voice; it seems to harbor characteristics of both pain and pride. He raises his arms with dignity to the nonexistent heavens and stares up into the blackness stretching infinitely above us, unbroken by stars, and says no more.

_ How are you here? _I ask, slowly, cautiously, and his eyes snap to mine, face distorted suddenly into a scowl as his arms fall to his sides. The expression does not suit him; the closest to anger I have ever seen him demonstrate is mild annoyance. I wonder apprehensively how much is left of the Sephiroth I knew.

_Our cells are connected. _He speaks with more authority than ever before, a prince among monsters, and his words chill me with dread and reignite my guilt for reaching inside and tampering with his core. I can only bow my head unwillingly, unable to meet his wintry eyes.

Sephiroth takes a few steps forward and rests a startling hand on my shoulder—heavily, as though he is using my comparative solidity as support. _I heard you from the Lifestream, _he says quietly, looking me full in the face with unsettling earnestness, and I have no choice but to reciprocate. _You're tired of waking each day. You want to withdraw from this world, correct?_

_…Yes, _I say eventually, at a loss for words. His eyes are ever so slightly unfocused, unblinking, and I search their depths for a meaning, finding only fragments of disjointed emotions. _But I don't want to die, _I add hesitantly, uncertainly, and the afterthought sounds childish as it tumbles from my lips.

Sephiroth only smiles secretively. _If you help me take back the Planet, _he says, almost purrs,_ I will grant your wish. _But why? I wonder, tormented. Why would he preserve me in such a way, after all I said and did to him—even considering whatever I could do to help him in his new mission?

_ How? _I ask eventually, and the question applies to both halves of his statement.

_Jenova is your mother, too, _he responds calmly. _You will prove a valuable ally, if you choose to heed her call… as I am. _We lock eyes, and I know Sephiroth will say no more: I must take or leave his offer as it is, without either the knowledge of what I am meant to do to help him or how long my respite will be.

_And if I refuse? _I ask cautiously, knowing already that the alternative will not be worthwhile. He only moistens his lips, regarding my heart pensively (its beat quickens under his relentless gaze), and does not speak.

_…I'll help you, _I say, hesitantly. I still wish for the complete destruction of all that is Shinra—the obliteration of their disgusting corruption. But more than anything, I want Sephiroth's rarely bestowed forgiveness. I want to be a part of whatever life Sephiroth has chosen, as he was once a part of mine. Plainly speaking, I want Sephiroth.

But can this fractured version of him provide me that? His eyes narrow as he tilts his head, carefully evaluating my expression, and he says nothing, neither accepting nor rejecting my somewhat uncertain offer of loyalty.

_ You say you will return to life if I follow your orders, _I add, as boldly as I dare, and his fingers finally relax, dropping back to his side as he looks away from me. I yearn to continue, to ask whether he will return to the way he once was, the rival I loved, or simply a physical version of this broken form—but the words stick sharply in my throat.

He knows what I mean, and gives a single, harsh laugh. _First Class SOLDIER Genesis Rhapsodos, _he says, paralleling my words from that fateful day and shaking me to the core. _Are you turning your back on me again?_

The last word bites into me, and I shake my head, more resolutely. I made Sephiroth the way he is, or at least struck one of the first blows in the barrage that shattered him. Perhaps my duty now is to comply with his new ambitions, and by doing so, work to reverse what I did to him so long ago.

_Good, _says Sephiroth dangerously, satisfied, and the barest hint of a smile (achingly familiar with a tinge of the alien) touches his face as he extends his hand. _Now, will you uphold your duty as my brother? Will you join me in taking back the Planet that once was ours and ours alone?_

_ I will, _I say, with more conviction this time, and he nods approvingly as we shake hands to confirm our bargain. His bare skin is as cold as his heart has become, and I find myself relieved when I am allowed to release his icy palm. (The last time he touched me, he had knocked an apple out of my hand; I always imagined, in line with this experience, that his first physical contact with me after my revelation would be punching me in the face, not shaking my hand.)

_You will hear the call when it is time, _says Sephiroth unreadably, and unconsciousness overtakes me so suddenly that I don't even have time to register the expression on his face before darkness conceals all.

* * *

That call does not come for a long time.

I am not conscious, but as with all periods of sleep, there are brief moments when I come closer to breaking the surface. Something feels wrong with the world—unbalanced—and my slumber becomes more fitful, fraught with nightmares, yet he still does not awaken me.

Whether his restraint is to keep me safe through some lingering notion of friendship, or because I am simply unneeded as of now, I have no way of finding out. I simply continue to exist, unaware of the world outside my head just as I had wished, and await my summons to Sephiroth's cause.

It does not ever come, but I hear muffled snatches of his voice, all meaning stolen by the roar of distant shadows.

_They're more powerful than I thought, _he coughs one day, the first clear words I have heard in what might be years, and I force open my sticky eyes to find myself standing in familiar darkness once more, the Lifestream swirling more agitatedly than before.

Sephiroth, bloody from many cuts, rests on his hands and knees. He is panting as though from some great struggle, his bare chest rising and falling in ragged and shallow breaths. His single wing, exposed, droops at his side, Masamune pinned to the ground in his shaky left hand. His hair is in disarray, obscuring his face, but I imagine his teeth are clenched.

I sink to my knees, knowing there is nothing I can do for him in an imaginary space, and he looks up at me with some surprise. Did he not summon me, then? Is this not my call to action?

_ Genesis, _says Sephiroth, and at the effort of speaking, he coughs and spits blood—but rather than heed my murmur to be silent for his own sake, he fights to continue. _Your mission is different from the others, _he manages, looking into my eyes dully, but can say no more, whether in elaboration or to explain his circumstances._  
_

_ What happened? _I ask desperately, searching his glassy eyes for an answer and finding none. His wounds are grievous indeed, enough so that any lesser man would surely be incoherent from pain. I receive no response, save to be pushed aside with surprising strength. Out the corner of his eye, he casts an ugly look at the Lifestream, which extends its sparkling tendrils towards him as though tentative.

_ Holy, _he says shortly, _and the Cetra. _Before I can ask questions, Sephiroth heaves himself to his feet, using Masamune as a cane, and stumbles forward, uprooting his sword from the ground and hacking viciously at the Lifestream, driving it back. _Don't touch me! _he shouts to no one, his voice breaking painfully in the middle, and I think I understand what's going on.

_Sephiroth, _I murmur, as reassuringly as I can. _The Goddess is trying to heal you. _Just as she healed me, cured me of my incurable degradation, gave me a second chance at life. A life in servitude of Sephiroth—a life over the nature of which he had complete control—but a new life nonetheless, and one of my own choosing.

_ She's no Goddess, _snaps Sephiroth, and I stare at him, appalled. _She's an Ancient._

I blink, shocked. _The Ancients are gone, _I say, but my voice is uncertain. They've been gone for thousands of years. The projects that produced monsters like myself and Sephiroth were intended to replicate their abilities. By some ironic twist of fate, we inherited the abilities of their destroyer instead.

_Only because I—killed the last one, _he growls, panting, and stabs Masamune into the ground to lean on it: the reflective surface beneath our feet ripples like water at the thrust. _And yet—she still offers me—absolution!_

Sephiroth lapses into muttering to himself, or perhaps to the Ancient he felled, and I cannot bring myself to listen to his ravings: he has not allowed me to awaken, and there is nothing I can do to help him. He eventually falls silent, glancing over his shoulder at me. _Be patient, Genesis, _he says, more audibly._ I have not forsaken you._

His form flickers with the effort of remaining corporeal even in my imagination as he staggers away from me, taking up his sword again as he goes. I will my legs to move and follow, reaching out for him automatically—but shadows engulf him and everything else, and before I can even wonder what my mission is, irresistible sleep overcomes me once more.

* * *

The third time I hear him, his voice speaks no words—just a scream of pain and rage.

I can tell it has been longer since our last meeting than between the first two, perhaps by years, but I again have no concept of what I have missed. Annoyed with my limited understanding of the world I once knew so well, I begin to find it strange that I had once craved this ignorance of the goings-on around me.

_Sephiroth! _I call out into the darkness, but there is no response.

I repeat his name after a long pause, more worriedly, wondering what will become of me if the man who controls my consciousness dissolves. Will I exist in the shadows for eternity, never to fulfill my postponed purpose in the world? Will I ever die? It occurs to me that I do not know if Sephiroth has made me immortal, or simply kept me alive. I don't even know what has become of my body, or whether I even have one anymore.

No, I realize; it's not only for my own sake that I am concerned. (Strange, isn't it, how selfishness is easier to embrace than the concept of caring once more for someone whom I had turned my back on long ago.) I fear for his safety because I once counted him among my friends, and I find it no longer matters to me how he has changed. Sephiroth is still Sephiroth, broken or intact, and I am bound not only by vow but by friendship to serve him.

I open my eyes, expecting another dreamlike scene with the Lifestream driving away the shadows—but instead, only darkness greets me. Closing my eyes again, I must wait for a long and uneasy time before a young woman's voice unexpectedly soothes my worries, and I finally slip back into dreamless unconsciousness.

I still can't remember what she said to comfort me.

* * *

_Genesis, _says Sephiroth's voice impassively, and I feel my body stir for the first time in what must be years, though my soul remains locked blindly in my subconscious: the primary emotion in my heart is sleepy joy, relief at his dangerous presence. _Your time is imminent, and your mission has changed._

_ What was that scream? _are the first words I speak, though as soon as I say them, something tells me that I'm referring to an incident long since passed and no longer relevant. It doesn't matter to me; I still want to know what could cause him to cry out in such anguish.

_Last year, another of my strategies failed, _says Sephiroth, somewhat impatiently. _I can no longer rely on clones or remnants or Geostigma. _He pauses, but it is not so I may ask what he means; I remain silent, awaiting clarification in his own time. _You are my last hope._

He sounds grudging, unwilling to say he is dependent on anyone, and I can feel myself smile at the task with which he sees fit to trust me. This is my summons, then, the day I can start reshaping him through subservience. _What are my orders, then? _I ask eventually.

_You are to track down and eliminate each of the people that have been responsible for my defeat in the past, _says Sephiroth, sounding distinctly pleased with the way I phrased my question. He was never power-hungry before, but I throw the thought away as soon as it crosses my mind. _And when all of them have dissolved into their precious Lifestream, you will help me build a new future for the world._

I frown, and my muscles obey, though I still cannot open my eyes. _Why did you not ask me to do so immediately? _I ask, immediately bracing myself for a violent admonition, but though he is silent for a while, his presence is not angry, merely contemplative. _I could have helped you._

_Because one of them could not be killed, _says Sephiroth dispassionately, surprising me with his forthright placidity. He seems oddly at ease, now—almost stable—almost like I remember him, though I put the latter thought quickly out of my mind. _But Chaos has returned to the Planet, and now, all Cloud's companions are mortal._

I don't understand, but I have no time to ask: a shock wave, blissfully physical, interrupts our communication, rippling the substance surrounding my body, and my eyes finally flutter open. A watery orb around me shimmers suddenly with light and heat, bursting open with surprising force and dropping me to the ground.

I rise quickly, my senses taking in the cavern, the real world, at long last. Moonlight, dark and blue and silver, the colors of Sephiroth. His voice is faint, but still audible, as my eyes slide curiously to a half-familiar body lying on the rocks: _That is one of the men who brought you to Deepground,_ he whispers._ He is the enemy of our enemies, and he shares Jenova's cells through yours; take him, and use him well._

Approaching the fallen one, I step through the shallow puddles of water, swaying a little as my body recalls what it is like to move in a non-imaginary space, and feel a smile tug at my lips. My mind whirls with memories, dreams, my calling, the hopes of redemption for both myself and a beloved—if broken—friend.

Stooping next to him, I pick him up cautiously, my muscles aching pleasantly to be used once more. He does not stir at my touch, though I can feel his life pulse weakly beneath my gloved fingers. I stare up at the moon, a high wind spurring the clouds past it. _Where shall I go? _I ask Sephiroth apprehensively, but I receive no answer, either because he believes the question beneath him or—a more disquieting notion—because I cannot hear his voice anymore.

There is no time to dwell on the matter; I have been given my new duty, and I must fulfill it to atone for endless sins. "It is not yet time for slumber," I murmur to the man I carry, my voice hoarse from disuse, as I turn my gaze down at him: he does not react, unhearing.

Weiss, isn't it? The one who once told me he shared my genes, that my fate was to be his brother and to bring down those in charge of Deepground. He has no idea the extent of our true duties—to bring down not merely those who rule some pitiful power company, or even those with whose elimination we have been charged, but an entire Planet. Our mission is to uproot corruption, preserve life by destroying it—follow in the footsteps of our mother.

I smile at nothing. "We still have much work to do… my brother."


End file.
